The Road to Being Different   1 comment

I have always felt different from the others; the way they do things, the way they think.  Maybe it goes back to my childhood as a redhead who wore red rimmed glasses ( my mom thought they would match my red hair) and having been named Yolanda in a world of Susans, Brendas and Amys. Blending in was hard to do.  I tried to blend in once by telling a new neighbor that my name was Julie – a name I thought was beautiful and longed to have -but of course that facade didn’t last long when the neighbor later told my parents she enjoyed meeting their daughter, Julie

 Maybe I inherited the different gene from my parents, who didn’t mind being different themselves.  While my friends spent their evenings watching Happy Days and Dallas, I spent mine listening to great novels such as Watership Down that my dad read aloud to the family because for a few years we didn’t even own a television.  When we did get a tv, it was a 13 inch black and white on which we watched Masterpiece Theater and All Creatures Great and Small.  I grew up never knowing or caring who shot JR.

I married my husband while wearing khaki shorts standing in the Nashville courthouse.  While my friends went to college, I saw the country from behind the wheel of a semi truck that my husband taught me how to drive.  I spent late nights driving through the desert on a route we often had from Los Angeles to Houston.  After I stopped driving, I took a job as a construction laborer on the site that became the headquarters for Cracker Barrel restaurants.  When that job was completed, my attire went from a hard hat and steel toed boots to a peach colored, waitress uniform complete with ruffles. While waiting tables in a rural Tennessee truck stop, I learned about Southern life from Billie Jean and Nell, two fine ladies whose bouffant hair and frosted pink lipstick accentuated their Southern charm.

Once I became a parent, it made sense that my life would continue on the path of nonconformity.  Pulling our oldest child out of preschool 15 years ago and saying no thanks to formal schooling, having 5 children in a world made for families of four, and sending our 16 and 12 yr olds on a weeklong camping trip alone to South Dakota – 800 miles from our home, all brought raised eyebrows and comments from others.  Comments such as, “That’s different.”  Yes, it sure is.


Posted December 28, 2010 by The Nonconformist Mom in Uncategorized

One response to “The Road to Being Different

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